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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27766870">the raindrops sting my eyes (i keep them closed)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nazezdha321/pseuds/Nazezdha321'>Nazezdha321</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>firefly character studies [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Firefly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Character Study, first firefly fic yay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:46:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27766870</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nazezdha321/pseuds/Nazezdha321</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"You afraid to die?” Mal asks her, the first time they’re surrounded by Alliance troops. Everybody thinks they’re gonna die tonight or tomorrow, knives or bullets or grenades or something worse, and all the sergeant can think about is fear. </p><p>It’s pouring, the water mixing with the dirt and the blood and the ash from the bodies they’ve burned today as the smoke covers the sun. Zoe glances over at the mound of her fellow soldiers. Ain’t a place for a cemetery, and they can’t just leave ‘em, so fire it is. </p><p>“Death’ll be a mercy,” she replies."</p><p>or, my Zoe Washburne character study</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Malcolm Reynolds &amp; Zoë Washburne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>firefly character studies [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031265</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the raindrops sting my eyes (i keep them closed)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You afraid to die?” Mal asks her, the first time they’re surrounded by Alliance troops. Everybody thinks they’re gonna die tonight or tomorrow, knives or bullets or grenades or something worse, and all the sergeant can think about is fear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s pouring, the water mixing with the dirt and the blood and the ash from the bodies they’ve burned today as the smoke covers the sun. Zoe glances over at the mound of her fellow soldiers. Ain’t a place for a cemetery, and they can’t just leave ‘em, so fire it is. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Death’ll be a mercy,” she replies. Mal raises his glass to that (not that there’s anything in the glass, ‘cause they ran out of water yesterday). She watches as he gulps at the air, maybe waiting for a droplet of water to slip down the side. She found a soldier - just a boy, really - digging through the bodies today, taking out canteens and rations and whatever he could find to eat and drink. Couldn’t find a reason to tell him off, so she let him dig. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hears screams in the distance and her own saliva tastes like metal in her throat. Were she religious, she might say a prayer or somethin’, but there’s no God for them here. She don’t think that anyone but her has realized that yet, not even Mal, with his cross hung ‘round his neck and his quiet prayers in the evenings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe Mal notices that she didn’t quite answer the question, maybe he doesn’t. It don’t matter anyway, ‘cause Zoe figures the way she goes out, she won’t have time to be afraid. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>--- </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first rule they teach you when you get into this fight is never to let ‘em know where you are. They know where you are, you’re dead in an instant. The second rule they teach you is to listen. They should’ve taught that first, ‘cause none of the other recruits heard anything after that first rule.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe did. Zoe listens. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She listens to the screams of children. They were too young to fight in this war. They shouldn’t be here, where you bark and the moon and bite at the sun and wonder if it was worth it. But she can hardly deny them the right to fight for their freedom, so she don’t say a word. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She listens to the explosions. Some of them are in the distance. Most of them are near. Once you get used to ‘em, they don’t hurt your ears as much, but the shaking of the ground never stops. Everything shakes, your legs and your shoulders and your hands. Especially your hands. You can’t shoot a damn thing with shaking hands. Maybe that’s the point. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She listens to Mal. The same man who asked her if she was afraid to die says they’re too pretty to. She’ll let th</span>
  <span>em hang on to whatever they can. They didn’t tell ‘em much when they sent her out here, on this barren planet and its rocky little valley. All they said was they needed them to fight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They forgot to mention that they needed them to win. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe listens. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only time she can’t believe what she hears is when they are told to lay down arms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>---</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe shivers, trying not to fall asleep as she lays in the mud. She’s bleedin’ real bad but she’s still on no man’s land. The second she stands, she’ll be shot to death by either side. There might be medical supplies left to treat her if she shuffles fast, but she can hardly move. From the looks of it, this is a pretty common situation; corpses litter the land around her.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She buries herself in the mud when she feels footsteps vibrate through the ground. Zoe can’t tell who it is yet but she ain’t willing to risk it. She lays still, one hand clutching her chest in an effort to slow the bleeding and the other holding her gun. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Check the bodies, see if you can find survivors!” calls a voice. She can’t tell if it’s familiar because it’s one of the 57th, or if it’s familiar because it’s the Alliance commander whose entire strategy session she just spent several hours recording.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe feels a hand on her throat. As her body is flipped, she grabs her gun and aims it at the head of -</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Zoe,” he says. “Lower the gun.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She lowers her gun. “Yes, sir.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You hurt?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe taps her chest. “Yes, sir.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you move?” Mal asks, helping her sit up against a rock. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nods. “Yes, sir.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you need me to carry you out?” he asks, and she shakes her head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, sir.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe pushes herself off the ground and hands him the device that she nearly got shot in the heart for. “The recording, sir.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes it. “We’ll pass it off to the next commander. After you’re treated, we’re being called to Serenity Valley, on a planet called Hera. It’s a strategic outpost in the middle of nowhere.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are there ever strategic outposts somewhere of consequence, sir?” Zoe asks as they walk toward a landing pad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grins. “You’ll be fine, Corporal.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe smiles slightly. Of course she will. She’s come too far, lost too much to die here in the mud, but she appreciates his sentiment nonetheless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The end of whatever they were fighting for is quick and chaotic and messy. It’s like death in that way. Then they start over, and it ain’t. The end is agonizingly slow and careful and orderly in a way that feels disorderly. It’s probably supposed to be that way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some of them are executed, hanged or stabbed or shot unceremoniously in the back of the head with the whisper of freedom on their breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some of them are stuck in Serenity Valley for two weeks, left for dead while peace is negotiated. Zoe can’t do anything but watch as people fall down and don’t get back up. As they go insane with hunger and have to be put down like animals. Usually, though, it’s a quiet rolling over of a soldier and realizing they’re a corpse. Died in their sleep, or with eyes wide open, staring at the stars covered in smoke above them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Most of them end up dying, executed or not. The rest go free, staggering to medships that drop them on destitute planets the second they’re able to stand. Zoe ain’t sure why she goes, but she knows they can’t kill everyone involved. You can’t kill everybody who wants freedom, after all. You wouldn’t have anybody left to control. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s been a part of the 57th for two and a half years and suddenly she and Mal are the only ones left. It don’t sit well with her, but she figures there’s something to be said for sticking together, so she half-carries him out of Serenity Valley ‘cause his leg’s nearly been blown off. He relearns to walk by running, running to the edge of the galaxy, and then farther. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Zoe can only follow, because she’s only ever been on spaceships or battlefields, and there’s no one left for her but Mal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>---</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To surviving another day,” Mal mutters, taking a swig of his beer. It ain’t any other day, it’s Unification Day, and he has a black eye and a broken nose from today’s bar fight. Zoe, as usual, declined to participate until Mal was really in over his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To the 57th,” Zoe replies, because most of them </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>survive today, and takes a sip of her own beer, feeling the familiar fuzzy warmth burrow in her chest. Mal says nothing, but they both know what he’s thinking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun’s about to set, hanging low on the horizon. Zoe has never grown tired of the sunsets when she’s planetside. If she had to be buried and tied to the ground in some way, she’d want to be buried at sunset, as the moon lifts the stars into the sky.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You ever think about ‘em?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe shrugs. It’s a non-answer with as much nonchalance as she can spare. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Me too,” Mal says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Still afraid to die?” Zoe asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Still too pretty for it,” the captain says, and Zoe knows he’s drunk. She’ll stop drinking, then, ‘cause someone’s got to man the ship, and it ain’t gonna be Mal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Pretty’ never helped a soul.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look at the damn Alliance,” Mal replies, gesturing into the open space. “They got their bureaucrats and politicians and soldiers and the whole gorram galaxy. Those people never had to work a day in their life. Bet their hands are still as smooth as the day they were born.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That ain’t what beauty is.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mal shrugs. “Don’t matter. They took beauty.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe glances up at the stars, starting to peek out from the blue sky. “Can’t take that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mal nods. “Damn right.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>---</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mal has a simple plan: get a ship, get a job, keep flying. Zoe’s plan is more complicated, but she can’t help but notice that his plan don’t involve joining one of the surviving rebel cells.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?” she asks one day when the sun is beating down on them and she can only think of the smell of bodies piled high, waiting to be burned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shrugs. “Ain’t nobody to fight with.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There are still wars across the system,” Zoe tells him. She’s sure he’s heard the news. “Browncoats fighting - ” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There are no Browncoats,” Mal interrupts. “Look at us, Zoe. They beat us and now we’re here, looking for a way off this planet to go to the next planet and the next and the next and they control all of them. But you know what they don’t control?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She does know. She’s heard it a million times by now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knows that Mal looks to the sky and sees freedom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knows he will never want to be stranded on another planet like they were in Serenity Valley, and she knows that she feels the same, but for different reasons. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knows the rebels have no chance. She knows they didn’t have a chance last time, but Mal was willing to fight then. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She understands the injustice of it all because, in the end, they’re both children who were sure that the good guys would win like they do in the stories. They never prepared for losing this war. Losing wasn’t an option. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then again, Zoe learned a long time ago that things ain’t fair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>---</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mal’s bitter,” the new pilot observes as they carry the unconscious captain to his quarters. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe eyes him as she shuts off the lights in Mal’s quarters and disables comms so he’ll get some sleep. “Anything else you notice about the captain?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s your typical tragedy,” he replies. “Mal hurts people so they can't hurt him. You’re different, though.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe closes the door as quietly as she can. “Am I?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You just want to save him,” the pilot tells her. “You can’t tell he’s already gone.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ain’t nobody ever gone. Not for good.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shrugs. “Dead are.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe gestures to the captain’s door. “Still breathin’.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, alive ain’t the same as living.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You got a name?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wash.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe steps up to him. “On Serenity, Wash, alive and living are synonyms.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wash smiles. “If you believed that, you wouldn’t be on this ship.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe glares at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damn pilot’s too smart for his own good. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>---</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Zoe was born among the stars. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s what her mother says when she’s little as she pets her daughter’s tight curls into intricate braids and tells her stories of times past. She says that nothing can tie Zoe - can tie life - down, no planet or moon, and Zoe’s very existence is proof of that. Out here in the black is where she shines.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe looks up at her mother and asks when and where and to whom she belongs, and her mother shakes her head and says </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe never knows her birthday, in what system she was born, or who her father is. She never has a family name to carry with her. On her application to join the Independent Army, she writes her name </span>
  <em>
    <span>(Zoe)</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then her mother’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>(Alleyne)</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She writes the current date and a day she dreamt up a half a second ago </span>
  <em>
    <span>(February 15th)</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Under </span>
  <em>
    <span>father</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she writes </span>
  <em>
    <span>none</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Miss Alleyne, you can’t put </span>
  <em>
    <span>the black </span>
  </em>
  <span>as the location of your birth,” says the woman who reads her form. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe shrugs and writes </span>
  <em>
    <span>vesselside </span>
  </em>
  <span>instead, and it seems to please the woman, who offers her a hand.  “Welcome to the fight.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zoe takes it. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>When I first started reading Firefly fics I realized that a lot of of them said they were written from 2002-2006 and were transferred from other sites but Firefly is literally older than I am so this is my first Firefly fic and I started writing it a few months ago. Way to make me feel like a child, Firefly fandom. </p><p>In all seriousness though, I didn't *intend* to get so into Firefly but I am obsessed with it and I cannot stop writing things and coming up with ideas so this is the first work of many. I blame Kat. </p><p>Thank you for reading!! Kudos/comments are always appreciated. You can also find me on tumblr under the same username &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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